


Worth Every Minute

by PrairieDawn



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Babyfic, F/F, Holiday Gift Exchange, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst with a Happy Ending, Minor Injuries, Pregnancy loss (mention), Salty T'Pring, travel is hell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 20:20:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21944572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrairieDawn/pseuds/PrairieDawn
Summary: T'Pring and Nyota have one last weekend fling before becoming parents.  Unfortunately, the need to deliver the baby early sends them scrambling to get home in time to be there for the birth.
Relationships: T'Pring/Nyota Uhura
Comments: 14
Kudos: 30





	Worth Every Minute

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ofnyota](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ofnyota/gifts).



> Holiday gift exchange fic. Based on suggestions: T'Pura, baby or kid fic, winter holidays.

In retrospect, it had probably been a poor idea to attend a conference at Utopia Planitia mere weeks before their daughter Penda was to be removed from the artificial womb in which she had been growing for nearly nine months. But T’Pring had found herself preoccupied with thoughts of the impending birth, and it would be fair to say her human wife’s preoccupation could accurately be described as worry. The winter holidays had given Nyota a break from teaching, so they left their San Francisco apartment with its tidily appointed nursery for a last weekend away. Doctor McCoy, one of their little girl’s three godfathers, had her under close watch at Starfleet Medical.

It was inevitable that they would receive a high priority call from the doctor during the dinner hour. They were waiting for their meal to arrive at a restaurant T’Pring had booked a reservation for five months in advance. Uhura’s bag vibrated gently under the table. She sipped her wine, oblivious to the faint sound.

“ _Ashayam_ , you have a call,” she said quietly.

“It can wait,” Nyota said. “I’d like to spend a little time not thinking about work.”

“Given that the conference we have been attending concerns language decoding algorithms and artificial intelligence programs, it does not seem that ‘not thinking about work’ is a high priority for you,” T’Pring teased gently.

“That’s not work, that’s fun. I’m just hoping not to have to discuss next semester’s courses with Admiral Kirk. He’s taking his position as Commandant of Cadets far too seriously.”

“Since when has he treated his duties any differently?”

Nyota acknowledged her with a dismissive wave, then met her eyes. She’d put an effort into highlighting them for the evening, warm gold and burgundy on the brows and a new mascara. It was dramatic in ways that challenged T’Pring’s logic, especially with the stunning wrap she wore, a batik raw silk in warm tones with a slit that went all the way up her leg. Nyota leaned forward on her elbows playfully. “I hope you planned to stay in and relax tonight. I’ve been running all day and sitting in those awful folding chairs. I’m looking forward to an early night.”

“As am I.”

Nyota’s purse warbled more urgently. That was an emergency override tone. T’Pring reached down to collect it from beside her bondmate’s chair. Nyota took it from her with a graceful, manicured hand and drew out her comlink, setting it to text. T’Pring felt Nyota’s mood darken. She reached across the table to press fingers lightly to her wrist, offering support and a silent question. Nyota turned her hand to take T’Pring’s. “Doctor McCoy is concerned that Penda’s placenta is failing. He and Dr. Gessan would like to deliver as soon as possible.”

T’Pring nodded understanding. Placental failure, a consequence of their differing physiologies, had doomed their first two babies, the one Nyota had carried lost suddenly at twenty-eight weeks gestation, a subsequent attempt by T’Pring surviving only twenty-two. They had agreed to make one, and only one more attempt using an artificial womb, allowing Dr. McCoy along with neonatologists at Starfleet Medical the ability to monitor the condition of the developing fetus in real time and provide additional support to reduce the placenta’s workload. “How long?”

“If it degrades at a constant rate, we have twenty-four hours at most. But he’d like us to come as soon as possible.”

“Tell him we are on our way.”

While Nyota spoke to the doctor, T’Pring excused herself to give their regrets to the maitre’d. Nyota arrived at the front of the restaurant a few moments later, her face drawn and her hands fiddling restlessly with her purse strap. “It will be well with the child,” T’Pring assured her. “She has the best physicians in the Federation and will be born among family.”

“I know, but I wanted to be the first to hold her.”

“We have a full day,” T’Pring reminded her. We can transport to the express shuttle and be at the hospital in six point two hours.”

Nyota nodded grimly. T’Pring, taking advantage of the lack of other Vulcans to be scandalized by her behavior, turned Nyota toward her and gently took both her hands, leaning in for a gentle human kiss. Nyota leaned into her arms for a moment before pulling back, resolve firmed. “Ready to be a mom?”

“I have been ready for three years.”

Nyota squeezed T’Pring’s hands, sending reassurance through the contact. Their path took them past the dome wall, which today was opaqued and covered with the storm shield. It was to be hoped that the transporters would be operational. They made their way to the nearest transport pad to stand in line with complaining travelers. The line failed to move. Nyota fidgeted with an earring.

T’Pring touched her arm. “Wait here. I will determine the nature of the problem.” She straightened her robes and checked her appearance in the reflective surface of a wall panel before approaching the pair of technicians operating the transporter. “May I inquire as to the cause of the delay?” she asked, primly.

The technician’s annoyed face flattened into a semblance of professionalism when he took in T’Pring’s appearance. There were advantages to the Vulcan reputation for assertiveness, as well as to her personal attractiveness. “There is too much electrical activity in the atmosphere to allow for safe transport at this time.” He checked a readout. “It could be a while.”

“How long, precisely, is a while?”

“Weather can be difficult to predict, ma’am. No less than two hours, no more than twelve.”

T’Pring fixed him with her sharpest gaze. “Perhaps you should inform the rest of the travelers waiting here, that they might make better use of their time than waiting in line for transport that will not commence for a minimum of two hours.” 

“Right.” He returned to his desk. 

She made her own way back to Nyota. “We must find alternate transportation.” As she spoke, the technician’s barely discernible message could be heard, more or less, over the public address system. It was a mystery to her how public address systems on almost any planet failed so completely to provide messages effectively to the public, given that was their stated purpose. 

“There are Starfleet grade surface to orbit shuttles that can handle dust storms up to category three. Let’s go to the local command center.”

“Agreed. Nyota, do you wish to change into travel attire?” Her dress and heels were slowing her down, despite their attractiveness.

Nyota reached down and swiftly removed her heels. “There. Travel attire.” They continued toward the command center at a slightly brisker pace. T’Pring spared a moment’s attention to admire Nyota’s quick feet, clad only in fine brown hose. When they reached the Starfleet kiosk, she pulled out her Starfleet identification. “I need to requisition an orbital shuttle flight to the Earthbound express, priority clearance, as soon as possible.”

The ensign at the desk eyed their clothing suspiciously. “Is this official Starfleet business, Commander?”

Nyota fixed him with a withering gaze. “I have been summoned by Commander McCoy at Starfleet Medical, priority one. Just because I was interrupted in the middle of a date—”

“Yes, ma’am. Right now the dust storm is at a category four. We are monitoring for a break in the weather. Recommend you board immediately, as any windows of opportunity to take off may be brief.”

“Understood, Ensign.”

T’Pring followed Nyota down the corridor to the shuttle docking station. The copilot stood at the entry. “Which of you is Commander Uhura?”

“That would be me. My wife and I are attempting to make the next express shuttle to Earth.”

“I’m sorry, this transport is to be used for official Starfleet transport, only. We can take you, but your wife will have to remain behind until civilian transport is available.”

T’Pring kept silence, trusting that Nyota knew better than a civilian scientist how to navigate Starfleet bureaucracy. Nyota, true to form, came through. “T’Pring is a senior programming consultant who has assisted with the development of imaging technologies at Starfleet Medical. The priority request from Commander McCoy is directed to both of us.” Every word T’Pring’s bondmate spoke was true. And every word of it was completely misleading. It was an effort worthy of a Vulcan. 

The copilot sighed and rolled his eyes. “I’ll have to confirm it with Commander McCoy.”

“Go ahead,” Nyota replied breezily. “We’ll wait here while you do.”

The copilot walked a few steps away and keyed his comm. After a brief, quiet conversation with a person whose voice T’Pring didn’t know, the unmistakable sound of Leonard McCoy shouting into the comm reached her ears. The copilot attempted to interrupt several times, but was not given the opportunity. After thirty-four seconds, the comm disconnected and the copilot returned. “Please take your seats and put on your harnesses. We will take off as soon as it is safe to do so.” He did not look T’Pring in the eye.

Nyota took her hand again to lead her to the rear of the craft. They strapped themselves into adjacent seats, Nyota taking the window as was her habit, T’Pring the aisle, which was marginally warmer. Nyota lay her head on T’Pring’s shoulder and slipped her hands under the outer layer of her robes to wrap them around her arm. There were a few other passengers, all in uniform, scattered about the cabin. Noting Nyota’s restlessness, T’Pring settled into a light meditation, opening up the bond to invite her to follow if she wished. Nyota softened against her, the tang of worry smoothing out and fading. 

Time passed. Nyota rose out of meditation, restless. _How long has it been?_ she asked. _I think one of us has to pee._

T’Pring allowed amusement to pass from herself to her bondmate. _I detect no such need in myself. Go, but return quickly._

Nyota slid past her. T’Pring steadied her with an arm about her waist as she passed, regretting that there would be no time for the rest of the evening’s planned activities before they would be responsible for another small being. Nyota smiled knowingly as she passed. When she returned, T’Pring noted, “We have been in the shuttle for one hour and forty-four minutes.”

“I think I’ll read for a bit, then.”

Contrary to what might be expected for their species, Nyota was the more sanguine, patient partner. Logically, T’Pring was aware that nothing could be done to change the weather, nor was it prudent to attempt to convince the pilot and copilot to risk all of their lives by attempting to fly in unsafe conditions, but her mind sought an outlet. She pulled out her padd to compose a note.

> Commander Spock,
> 
> As it is possible that the new child of our house will be born prior to Nyota’s and my arrival, it falls to you and your bondmates to ensure she is welcomed and comforted in the manner of both of our peoples. My preference is that you, James, and Leonard provide the bulk of her care until we return.

She paused in her writing. There was truly no need to reiterate plans that had been in place for months. Spock, who had become something of a brother to her along with his bondmates, would see to Penda’s needs admirably. Still, and perhaps selfishly, she had desired to be the second pair of hands to hold their child, after Nyota of course.

> We are presently awaiting safe travel conditions and will endeavor to arrive as soon as possible.
> 
> T’Pring.

“In retrospect, we should have finished our dinner,” Nyota mused.

“You are hungry. I believe I have a protein bar amongst my belongings.” T’Pring produced the item and passed it to Nyota, then elected to read as well for a time. There were always additional journals in her field to peruse. She flipped through her reading queue, noting a piece by Trisak and suppressing her irritation. She was in no mood to endure his unnecessarily complex analyses, made more arduous by his subtly insulting writing style. She turned to one of Spock’s recent papers and settled in to read. It was always good to keep informed of one’s family members’ research.

After an additional two hours, T’Pring found herself in need of the toilet and left her seat to manage matters. Unfortunately, as soon as she had seated herself, the door lock clicked and a message flashed on the small screen set at eye level on the back of the restroom door. “Takeoff imminent. Please use restroom restraint feature.”

The shuttle jolted underneath her. She had just located the restraints when minor shifts in her center of gravity informed her that they had indeed risen into the sky. A moment later, she was roughly slammed into one side, then the other of the small cubicle, then straight up into its ceiling with just enough time to raise her arms to protect her head. She scrambled, upon landing, to latch herself in. The next round of turbulence arrived before she was able to adjust the straps properly, and they snapped against her body with bruising force. She took advantage of a moment’s respite to tighten her harness and rode the rest of the way to the express shuttle in a silence that was more sullen than meditative, one loop of her elaborate coif hanging down over one eye.

When the shuttle docked, she exited the restroom cabinet with no more than the minimal adjustments of her robes necessary for modesty. She had no desire to remain for longer than absolutely necessary. She mustered what remained of her dignity to return to Nyota’s side.

Nyota turned to look at her and a giggle bubbled out of her mouth. She stifled the sound with a hand over her mouth. T’Pring was torn between offense and gratitude that she had brought her wife a moment’s delight at a trying moment. “Your hair!” Nyota exclaimed, followed immediately by, “Are you hurt?”

“Not seriously,” T’Pring evaded. She suspected her left wrist, which had taken the brunt of her collision with the cabinet’s ceiling, was broken, but she did not want to delay them further with a trip to the orbital station infirmary. “When does the next express shuttle leave?”

“It’s being held for us. We need to hurry.”

Maintaining dignity while running through an orbital station in battered evening clothes and a hairstyle that had begun to seriously obscure her vision was no easy task. Nyota took hold of her bad hand as they ran and nearly stumbled herself at the pain T’Pring could not suppress in time. She sent reassurance and urgency through the bond. 

They reached the express shuttle, Nyota flashed her ID and dragged T’Pring inside by her better arm. The express shuttle flight would take six hours, for which they were supposed to have a private cabin. Nyota, however, was arguing with the steward. Said steward cast sidelong glances in T’Pring’s direction every few seconds. T’Pring glared back.

“All private cabins have been taken by higher ranking officers,” the steward insisted.

Uhura gestured toward T’Pring. “We booked a cabin. She had a bumpy ride up from the surface. She’s injured.”

“If your companion is injured, she should visit the infirmary on station before boarding,” the steward said sourly.

“That will not be necessary,” T’Pring said. “I am in acceptable condition. Nyota, I will endure the lack of privacy given that it will expedite our departure.”

They were led to seats in the main cabin of the shuttle, where they strapped in for takeoff. Fortunately here, at least, they would be free to move about as soon as the shuttle was underway. T’Pring looked forward to adjusting her robes properly and having Nyota fix her hair. Takeoff made it clear to T’Pring that she had likely also cracked a rib, but at last they were free of Mars and on their way back to Earth. Once they were out of their harnesses, Nyota began removing pins from T’Pring’s hair and finger combing it so it lay straight down her back, then began brushing the extra fixative out of it until it was a smooth as could be managed. She separated it into five strands, plaited it, and twisted the plait into a simple, comfortable bun at the nape of T’Pring’s neck.

T’Pring patted it gently with her better hand and nodded her approval, discovering yet another pulled muscle as she did so. Nyota winced in sympathy. She took advantage of their position to rest her thumbs lightly on the psi points on either side of T’Pring’s spine. _You feel off. How badly are you hurt, really? Don’t lie to me this time._

_My left wrist and one rib may be broken. Aside from that, merely bruises._

_T’Pring!_

_It is of no consequence, Nyota._

Nyota slid out from behind T’Pring. “I’m getting us something to eat.”

“That would be acceptable.”

T’Pring rested until Nyota returned with two bowls of green fusilli pasta. “It’s pesto,” Nyota clarified.

“What is pesto?”

“Pasta with olive oil, herbs, and pine nuts. It’s not bad.” She took a bite. “It’s not the best pesto I’ve ever had, but it’s food, and I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

“I am sure it is acceptable.” She took the offered meal. It was indeed acceptable, though she found her mouth tingling slightly as she finished. She wondered idly what seasoning might have that effect.

Nyota nudged her gently. “I have an update from Dr. Gessan. He says he’d like to have Penda out in eight hours if possible.” 

“The shuttle arrives in Earth orbit in five point two hours. If we beam in to San Francisco, we should be able to reach Starfleet Medical in time.”

“I’ll let him know. Then I think I’ll try to get some sleep. It’s pretty late, and there’s nothing more we can do until we get back.”

“I will attempt to sleep as well. Sleep will accelerate the healing process, though not as much as a healing trance.”

*

Nyota’s voice brought her to wakefulness. “Oh, T’Pring, your face!” At once she became aware of a tight, itchy sensation, most noticeable on her face and hands. She attempted to open her eyes, but could not force her eyelids apart. A comlink blipped near her ear. “We have a medical emergency in the passenger cabin. Looks like an allergic reaction.”

“I’ve patched you in to Starbase 1 Medical. They’ll talk you through it,” the pilot’s voice said, slightly tinny through the link.

“The only Earth food I had not eaten previously was the pine nuts,” T’Pring attempted to say through swollen lips.

“I’m sorry, I can’t understand you. Can you make heads or tails of what she’s saying?”

Nyota’s hand brushed across her face, leaving a trail of maddening itching in its wake. T’Pring took advantage of the offer of contact. _Pine nuts,_ she said.

“She says it was probably the pine nuts in the pesto.” 

T’Pring heard a dull thump beside her, a latch being opened, the crinkle of packaging. The steward raised his voice, “Medical says 0.5 mg intramuscular epinephrine is standard for Vulcans.”

There was the click of a dosage dial on a hypospray. She could feel hands pushing aside her robes; Nyota’s hands. A hiss and burn in her thigh. Her heart raced in her side. “Can you breathe?” Nyota said, her voice tight with worry. 

T’Pring nodded. She tried to speak again, but her voice caught in her swollen throat. 

“The station physician says you should attempt a healing trance if you can,” Nyota told her.

“I do not wish to miss the birth of our child.”

“I’ll wake you when we reach Earth orbit in three hours.”

*

She became dimly aware of her surroundings in response to a firm slap. The pain was deeper and more acute than it should be, especially given Nyota’s tendency to hesitate in striking her. She surfaced by following the thread of their bond and opened her eyes. Her eyelids ached. Earth turned, deep blue and bright white in the shuttle’s large window. Nyota shook out her hand as though the fingers stung.

The itch was gone, but it had been replaced with tenderness, heat, and aching. She looked at her hands. They were swollen and blotched with bluish bruises. Nyota pressed a kiss to her temple. “They want to see you at the station clinic before we head down.” She had changed into her uniform while T’Pring was in her trance.

“We will be late,” T’Pring protested.

“We’ll get there.”

In order to expedite their leaving, T’Pring endured the indignity of the wheelchair sent from the clinic, complete with a sturdy looking orderly to guide it. She did not appreciate the rude clinic doctor who shone an excessively bright light into her eyes and pulled her eyelids up with his ungloved hands, his unshielded mind scraping against her own to worsen the headache she did not plan to admit to him. “Angioedema secondary to food allergy,” he told Nyota, as though T’Pring were not sitting in his presence. “Given the extent of the damage to the dermis, I recommend full body dermal regen over a period of four to six hours.”

“Absolutely not,” T’Pring informed him. “Nyota, I am well enough, and will know to avoid pine nuts in future.”

“If you leave, it will be AMA,” the doctor said, still looking at the padd which presumably displayed her chart.

“I will sign whatever you require.” T’Pring stood, blinking at the sharp ache in her feet, but allowing no other sign to reach her face. The clinic doctor gave her a data pad to sign. She signed in Vulcan script, the better to confound him.

“We’re going straight to Starfleet Medical in San Francisco,” Nyota assured the clinic doctor unnecessarily.

“Have it your way. I’ll upload care instructions to your padds.” He turned away from them, still talking. “Get dressed and get moving. Lot of travelers moving through this time of year.” He tapped his padd and spoke to the nurse even before the door closed on him. “Who do we have in exam three, Jess?”

“I’ll help you get dressed,” Nyota said. She gingerly pulled off T’Pring’s gown, wincing in sympathy. “Wow.”

T’Pring examined her yellow/brown and blue mottled skin. “It is not as painful as it looks.”

“Bullshit. I didn’t even know hives could do that!”

“Evidently they can.” She stood, unable to keep her discomfort from showing on her face. Nyota hissed her sympathy and helped her back into her robes.

“I’ve reserved us a spot in line for Earthbound transport. Everything should go smoothly from here.”

“Has Penda been delivered yet?”

“Dr. Gessan is waiting one more hour.”

T’Pring allowed Nyota to support her, but not to slow their steps. They hurried through the main station concourse to where a long line of travelers meandered outside the door to the transporter pads. The line was moving too slowly. T’Pring shifted from foot to foot while they waited. “Due to adverse weather conditions in the San Francisco area all transport to Starfleet Facilities will disembark at the secure transport facility in the Engineering Department.”

“How far is the engineering department from Starfleet Medical?” T’Pring asked.

“About a twenty minute walk.”

“We will arrive in time.”

Nyota frowned at the line. “I just want her in my arms.”

“It is possible that she will need medical treatment upon her birth that will preclude our being able to hold her immediately.”

“I know, T’Pring.” Irritation crept into Nyota’s voice.

The line moved forward at a crawl. At last they reached the front. T’Pring found herself imagining the small life they had created in her hands at last. She stepped carefully onto the pad, still policing her movements so that she did not appear to be fragile or suffering to Nyota. The look on Nyota’s face suggested she was less than fully successful.

The technician looked up for a moment. “Stand still. We’re waiting for the okay from the weathersats.”

It might have been her imagination, but T’Pring could have sworn the transporter prickled more than usual. They materialized in a nondescript room bearing the Starfleet logo and quickly cleared the pad for the next group of passengers. Once they were standing outside under a wide overhang that protected them from most of the wind and freezing rain, T’Pring opened her padd to check for the most efficient route to their destination. “We should head north, following the central walking path—” she said. She looked up to discover she was talking to no one. Nyota was gone. T’Pring caught sight of a bench and hobbled over to it, glad to get off her feet for a moment. She told herself there was no need to worry, nor to feel irritated that Nyota had left without explanation.

A petite, bubble shaped ground car pulled up beside the bench, nearly silently. Nyota hopped out of the driver’s seat and opened the passenger side door. “Get in. You’re not walking.”

“A most logical solution,” T’Pring agreed, deeply grateful for Nyota’s resourcefulness.

Nyota insisted on driving. The car hovered a few centimeters off the ground, away from the slick of ice forming on every surface. Fat drops of grainy water, already turning to ice, struck the windshield with a sound sharper than rain. The main tower of Starfleet Medical rose up in front of them and then, again, they halted at the back of a long line of vehicles. “I can’t see what the problem is,” Nyota said.

T’Pring turned on the real time map to look. “It seems there has been an accident ahead of us. The road is blocked.”

“We’ll have to walk the rest of the way.” Nyota maneuvered the vehicle into a parking slot. T’Pring knew better than to argue the illogic of attempting to traverse the icy sidewalks on foot with her wife. When Nyota had a goal, she did not allow the attainability of that goal to stand in her way. 

Until she exited the vehicle into a 15 kph wind and stinging needles of freezing rain. “Nyota, neither of us have coats.”

“I am not missing our baby’s birth!” Nyota trudged ahead of T’Pring, whose layered robes at least delayed the water’s inevitable soaking through to the skin. Just ahead of her, Nyota hit a patch of black ice and slipped. T’Pring reached to catch her, forgetting for a moment her broken wrist and rib, barely begun to heal in the scant few hours she’d been able to maintain her trance. Heat and ice lanced up her arm and into her shoulder, and without that arm, she was unable to balance Nyota’s weight against her body and they both tumbled onto the slick, soaking wet sidewalk. 

Nyota recovered first to crawl forward onto a less slick patch of the walk. “We just have to walk through that little park. The next building is part of the medical complex. It’s all inside from there.”

Wet, cold, and bruised, they clung to each other and hobbled through the grass beside the sidewalk, where it was less slick. The rain softened and turned to fat, clumping flakes nearly as large as Earth butterflies. Nyota’s comlink chimed. She looked at it, froze a moment, and sank down onto the snow covered grass. “It’s Dr. McCoy. He says Penda’s vital signs became too erratic. They had to deliver.”

Nyota sniffled and brought one shaking hand to her eyes. “She won’t be ours. She’ll bond to Spock and Jim and Leonard, and they’ll be her family.”

“She’s already bonded to all of us. She’ll have her uncles,” the word they had decided to use to describe Spock and his bondmates when speaking Standard to their child, “and she’ll have us, and she will know who her ko-mekh and her mother are.” T’Pring looked up. Against the black sky, shining with warm, golden lamplight, snowflakes whirled in complex and beautiful patterns. “I have never before observed this phenomenon.”

“You mean the snow?” 

T’Pring settled to her knees beside Nyota. Snowflakes lay on her hair and eyelashes. She studied them for a moment, their intricate sixfold symmetry in varying patterns, lasting on average eight point four seconds before melting. A snowflake landed on Nyota’s upper lip, melting almost as soon as it touched. T’Pring, merely curious as to whether melted snow had a particular taste, sampled with lips and tongue. 

Nyota returned the kiss eagerly, seeking out the comfort of touch and intimate knowledge. T’Pring guided their minds together, offering her a reminder of their constancy, the fact of their connection. Nyota ended the kiss first. “We need to get inside before we both freeze.”

They stood and picked their way across the rapidly whitening grass. Ice glittered on the bare tree branches overhead, and the sky above them was full of dancing, six pointed water stars. They nearly fell on another icy patch just outside the door, but kept their feet by grabbing on to each other. Nyota laughed and buried her face in T’Pring’s shoulder.

The warmth inside was a mixed blessing as their cold-numbed noses and fingers thawed enough to burn. They hurried down three long hallways, into a lift, down two more hallways and up another lift until they emerged on the neonatology floor, where Dr. McCoy was already waiting for them. At the moment the lift doors opened, he was beaming, but in an instant his smile faded. He looked aghast at the two of them. “You’re both soaking wet, and what happened to you, T’Pring?” He pulled out a medical tricorder and ran it over them both, then took each of them by the upper arm and dragged them along with him, shouting, “I need warming blankets brought to family recovery room two, something hot to drink, and a damn bone knitter!”

They arrived at a door that slid open at McCoy’s touch. Warm air billowed out at her. The room contained a couch, a couple of soft chairs, and a cradle. “Is she here?” Nyota said.

“Dr. Gessan is still checking her out. You two strip down. There’s a hot water shower off this room. Get warm and clean. I’ll have a nurse bring fresh clothes.”

Nyota undressed them both, careful not to jostle T’Pring’s arm. She took in T’Pring’s skin, mottled as it was with rapidly yellowing bruises and clicked her tongue in sympathy. “You’ve had a pretty awful day.”

“I expect it will improve shortly,” she said. “Let us prepare to meet our child.”

She stepped into the oversized shower with Nyota, wondering why it was easily large enough for two, then realized that after giving birth, a parent might require assistance from their partner in bathing. Nyota washed first, the soap bubbles tracing their way down her curves in ways that made T’Pring regret that she did not have the full use of her hands. Once she had finished, she gently washed T’Pring from hair to toes, wincing every time she touched an area where T’Pring’s injuries were more severe. “You’re going straight into a healing trance after this, you know.”

T’Pring did not bother arguing. “I am aware. I intend to meet our daughter first, however.” Her ears caught the sound of someone entering briefly. “I believe our clothes have arrived.”

She expected hospital pajamas or at best, spare scrubs. Instead, she found soft robes in crimson edged with gold thread for herself and brushed green fleece with a subtle design suggesting trees for Nyota. There were matching slippers for their feet. They sank down onto the couch to find glasses of warm mulled cider along with dal and naan, all still steaming. As they were finishing their meal, Dr. McCoy returned with his medkit. He opened it onto a tray beside the couch. “So I see you’ve managed to have a severe allergic reaction, break two ribs, your left wrist, and your scapula, in addition to the concussion. What happened to you?”

“I was caught off guard in the restroom when the Mars shuttle took off. It was turbulent.”

“Remind me to find your pilot and throw him in a tumble dryer for half an hour, see how he likes it.” He turned her arm carefully in his hands. “You didn’t have the wrist set before you went into your first healing trance. It’s going to need to be surgically rebroken.”

Nyota interrupted, “Where is Penda?”

“Right outside. First, I’m going to put an immobilizer on T’Pring’s arm, give her some pain medication—” When T’Pring opened her mouth to protest, he held up a belaying hand. “You’re going into surgery in an hour and you’re projecting enough pain even I can pick it up. You don’t want to subject an unshielded newborn to that kind of stress, do you? I didn’t think so.”

The hypospray hissed against T’Pring’s neck. She felt herself sinking further into the couch cushions and leaning into Nyota’s side. “We’re finally going to hold her,” Nyota whispered while they watched McCoy go to the door.

The door opened and Spock walked in with a tiny wrapped bundle. He sat in one of the chairs, laid the bundle across his knees and unwrapped it. Little brown arms and legs waved. Penda’s head was covered with black curls, and her eyes were large and brown, like Nyota’s. Spock gathered their daughter up, his face softening, if not quite smiling. “It is best if you each hold her skin to skin for a time, so she learns your scent and your touch.” 

Nyota unbuttoned her pajamas and accepted the wriggly infant from Spock. Penda immediately molded to Nyota’s body, nuzzling her head up under her chin. Nyota sniffed her hair and whispered something to her in Swahili, a little too low for T’Pring to make out. The window framed their warm features with darkest blue and swirling white.

T’Pring shifted on the couch so she could reach out with her good hand and lay it on the baby’s back. Penda’s eyes opened at the touch to regard her solemnly. Nyota’s hand covered her own. It was, all things considered, a most satisfactory day.

**Author's Note:**

> This was a lot of fun to write, and I'm so happy to contribute to the T'Pura ship.
> 
> A/N: This story was originally written to be explicitly part of the Changesverse. It is still Changesverse compliant, but could be read as having some other origin.


End file.
